Winds esker               
  
                                          
 There Was This Place That  For Two Years 
 I  Couldn'T  Go To.  Regardless How Much 
 Discussed  With Others,  Or  Pointed Out 
 On Maps, I Could  Not  Think  Of It When 
 Alone.  I Would  Often  Travel Past  The 
 Fork,  Where A Right  Turn Would  Surely 
 Take Me There, But  Even Then, Something 
               Kept Me Away.              
                                          
 When  I Finally  Got  There,  After Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,   The  Place  Was  Surreal.   An 
 Esker,  Like  A Needle-Thin Rift  Out In 
 The  Lake,  But  Ten  Meters  High   And 
 Adorned  In  Birch, Willow, Bracken, And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice  The View To  Either  Side. There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T  Recognize Them.  First Off, They 
 Were Much Too  Close, As The Lake Should 
 Stretch  For A  Hundred Meters  More  On 
 Both Sides.  But  Now  I  Felt  I  Could 
 Almost Reach  Out  And  Touch  Them. And 
 Then, When  I Realized Which Shores They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They  Were Of The  Right Lake.  But This 
       Lake Is Large, Fractured, And      
 Bipartite.  Like A Pair  Of Lungs Carved 
 Into The Granite, And With No Less  Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
     Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly    
 Understood Them  As Belonging Many Miles 
                  Away.                   
                                          
 I  Examined  The   Ridge,  The  Treeline 
 Above. Was This What  You  Saw Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                Remember.                 
                                          
 Carrying  Forward,  On  The Very Tip  Of 
 The Esker,  I Found  The  Ruins Of  Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
 Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath  
 The Moss,  And  Strange  Slabs  Inserted 
 Into  The  Slope  Like Dams  Against The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting  There, I  Could See  Across The 
 Narrowed Lake  My Entire Path To Where I 
 Sat:  From The Stairwell  Of  My  House, 
 Through  The  Old  Woods Behind The Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three  And Then  Back  Under  It, 
 Through  The  Fancy  Villas,   Over  The 
 Fields, And Then That Right  Turn At The 
                  Fork.                   
                                          
 And  Then The Stairs  Up On  The  Ridge. 
 Thinking  Back,  This Was  Probably  It. 
 Hidden  In  A  Grove, There  Were Stairs 
 Much  Like  The Ones I Currently Sat On, 
 Old And  Worn Down,  That  Lead  You  Up 
 Onto The Esker. The Point Of  Entry. Had 
 I  Insted Opted To  Walk The Path At Its 
 Foot,  I'M Sure  My Experience  Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On  The  Lake,   There  Were  People  In 
 Boats. I Wondered, Could They  Even  See 
 Me?  If  I  Shouted, Would  They Turn To 
         Stare Right Through Me?